61
At three o’clock, the sleek black sedan with the obnoxious hood ornament pulled up in front of the curb. Rayford got out, smiling his carefree smile. “Miss Bianca,” he said, loping up my front steps. He picked up my small suitcase. “You ready to visit Kentucky?” I smiled so hard my cheeks hurt. “Ready as I’ll ever be!” He sent me a sympathetic look, opened the back door for me and helped me get settled, then went to the trunk to put my bag in. Jackson was sitting on the seat beside me, wearing jeans and his old, scabby leather jacket, the one he’d been wearing the night we met. His greeting was curt. “We have to stop by my attorney’s office on the way to the airport.” “Good morning to you, too.” He blew out a hard breath through his nose. The entire car vibrated with his tension. I di
- Writer
